Troubles Of The Brain
by TimidBookworm
Summary: One-Shot. Poor Donny is having head issues and has been left in the Lair with the members of his family that are all but quiet. Rated because of 1 word, maybe 2.


A/N: Hello again =) I came up with this little story after reading (and loving) a handful of 'Leo gets a migraine' stories and thinking, 'Hmm, Leo's not the only one in that household that has potential for migraines!' And since I could only find 1 turtle with said head troubles I thought I'd rectify the situation, though if someone else has already done this then I apologize, I did not mean to step on any toes!

Oh! And just so people know, I'm not an expert on migraines though I have had the displeasure of enduring a small handful myself.

Disclaimer: no turtles for me, and Barett-Jackson Auction as well as all the medicines mentioned are free of me as well.

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Troubles of the Brain

Donatello growls softly in frustration, blinking rapidly for about the tenth time to try and clear his vision. For the last 5 minutes the words on his computer screen refused to stop blending together. Staring back at it he finds the same messed up squigglies as before, and sighs dejectedly. He really wanted to finish this project, it's not like it was in need of completion but so what? It fascinates him and could prove useful. To finish said project he'd first have to complete the research, but how is he supposed to do that when his eyes won't cooperate?

Don gets up only to brace himself with the desk a second later as dizziness strikes. _Whoa, where did that come from? Did I get up too fast? Wait..._He lifts his head slowly to squint at the little clock on the computer. When equilibrium returns the brainy turtle straightens gradually and starts to the kitchen. It had been several hours since he last ate and he knows it, _so maybe I'm just hungry._

Passing through the main room he - not unexpectedly - finds it silent and empty. Raph had gone out with Casey hours ago, last he checked Mikey was up in his room reading comics, and Master Splinter had taken Leo and left for the farmhouse a couple days ago for a week long meditative/get-in-tune-with-nature thing. Donny had actually wanted to go to the farmhouse, he had worked himself ragged lately and the quiet solace of the countryside was quite tempting. April and some of the family (mainly Leo and Splinter) had encouraged him to go, but the need to finish this last task had won out in the end, and besides, who said he couldn't go after? _Of course that was before it started taking longer than expected...and words had started melding together... _Donny thinks bitterly, grabbing the bread from atop the fridge.

He snatches the peanut butter from its hidey-hole, spreading it across the bread and in no time at all the turtle is munching on a peanut butter sandwich at the kitchen table. Finishing off the last of his little snack Don suddenly notices an odd patch in his vision. He manages to put the dishes in the sink just as a few smaller vision obscurities join the first.

"Oh no..." he groans miserably, dreading in what he knew this development meant. He rushes to the bathroom, practically diving into the medicine cabinet as it comes into view. Don searches and searches, getting more desperate as he continually doesn't find the substance that would help him in the upcoming war with his brain. Frantically looking in every nook and cranny of the small space twice, the turtle could almost cry in disbelief when he finds nothing. No Excedrin Migraine, no Motrin...not even a lousy Advil or Tylenol. Oh, he's so screwed.

Migraines didn't happen often, but when they did...they tended to hit _hard_. The word blending and splotchy vision would only be the first. Dizziness, sensitivity to light and sound (and sometimes smell but not always), a splitting headache, and nausea would all be upon him in a matter of minutes, sometimes bringing unexpected company with them.

The purple banded turtle releases a sound somewhere between a groan and a moan as he feels the dreaded dull pounding start to creep into his skull, slowly wrapping his brain in the unpleasant throbbing. Momentarily resting his head on the cool surface of the counter, he relishes in the slight comfort whilst trying to figure out another solution to his problem. If it was one of his brothers in this situation he'd tell them to go to their room, turn off the lights and try to sleep. Yes, that's what he needed to do, isolate himself from racket and illumination.

He rights himself and gradually pads towards his room, holding his head in one hand as the pounding gets worse. Halfway there he stops as he suddenly recalls the fact that there are several of his smaller inventions housed in his bedroom that emanate diminutive noises in regular intervals. Tiny sound would not be tiny for long... A long-suffering sigh escapes him. Alright, not his bedroom then, so where else could he go? His brothers' rooms were out of the question, Mikey is in his and it was a miracle in and of itself whenever Michelangelo was quiet, no one goes in Raph's room without permission unless they didn't care for their limbs, and Leo liked his privacy just as much as Raph though he would probably lecture as opposed to rip off an appendage. Don wouldn't even consider Master Splinter's bedroom. The only other place in the Lair with something comfy to lie on was the living room. Yeah that could work, turn the lights off and it would work nicely...unless Mikey decided to invade...

Another sigh and he heads for the couch, only making a pit stop to grab one of the older bowls from the kitchen - just in case - and cast his chosen refuge into darkness. Heavily plopping onto the cushions his arm flops down the side of the sofa to set the bowl down, and the turtle relaxes into the cushy surface - or at least relaxes as much as he can, seeing as how his head is starting to feel like explosives are igniting inside it.

Don isn't sure how much time passes as he lies there in the dark, 5 minutes or maybe 5 hours, he couldn't tell. He was too busy doing deep breathing exercises to try and ease the gradually building pressure in his cranium, trying to fend off the feeling that the room was tilting despite the fact that it obviously wasn't, and silencing any whimpers or moans that try and escape him. He's a ninja, the Foot could break bone and he'd bite back any sounds, a simple headache would _not_ reduce him to such blithering damn it!

A door creaks open on the second floor causing Don to inwardly wither a bit, _Oh no..._

"Whoa!" Mike's voice exclaims, "Why are all the lights out? It's not _that_ late!" A moment later light blazes through Donatello's eyelids making the headache intensify substantially. Groaning loudly he hastily flips onto his plastron to bury his face into the couch's throw pillow.

"Donny-boy! You've come out of the Turtle Cave!"

"'Turtle Cave'?" he asks the pillow.

"Ya, you're 'Bat Cave', except you're a turtle so 'Turtle Cave'!"

"Turn the light off Mikey." Don wearily mumbles, not having the spare patience or energy to debate with his overactive brother at the moment.

"What was that bro? You're kinda talkin' to the pillow there Donny. And why are you on the couch like that? Are you trying to sleep? Oh! Are you thinking up new inventions? Like, our own cloaking devices? How cool would that be! Invisible ninja turtles! We could have a battle of the invisibles with the Foot Tech Ninja!" Don lifts his head.

"Mike -" he abruptly cuts himself off as he snatches the bowl from the floor and promptly throws up.

"Dude! Gross!"

"Turn the light off!" Don groans as he hides his face again. For a minute everything's quiet before Don hears slight shuffling and scrapping. He really, _really_ hopes that, despite the pain in his head, he'll fall asleep soon and be done with this crap.

What seems like hours later (though it was probably just a couple minutes) there's more scrapping below him and there's a distinct 'pop' followed by rattling. With his intensified hearing these sounds aren't as quiet as they normally would be and Donatello instinctively opens his eyes and snaps his head up in slight alarm. Thankfully, the living room light had been switched off. Mike must have put the kitchen light or a lamp on, for even though it's dark (to normal eyes) there's still a soft glow coming from somewhere behind the couch and Don can see his boisterous brother standing beside him with a couple pills in his outstretched hand, a water bottle in the other. He sits up, which his head protests to.

"Where'd you get those?" Don asks half in awe and half irritation seeing as how the stupid things had eluded him earlier.

"In the kitchen," Mike replies, emptying his hands into his brother's and shrugging, "behind the toaster."

Don shallows down the pills before looking up at his brother with confusion, "Behind the..." he doesn't bother to finish just flops back down and closes his eyes, deciding to leave the mystery of why headache medicine had been behind the toaster for later.

"You know..." Don can just imagine that huge mischievous grin on Mike's face. "They say only intellectuals get migraines and ladies looove smart guys."

"Then you'll never get any Mike." A rough Brooklyn accent calls from the direction of the entrance. "Why are ya standin' in the dark?"

Light stabs Donatello's eyes for a second time and he barely manages not to whimper as he once again takes cover in the pillow.

"Raph!" Mike hisses.

"What?" Several moments silence. "What's with you Brainiac?"

Don mutters something unintelligible into the pillow; he doesn't even really know what he's saying he just wants the freaking light turned off and his brothers to leave him alone already. Why did he have to get stuck with the two members of his family that could wake the entirety of New York?

"Aw, did they finally inven' a computer program that can beat ya at chess?" Raph asks with mock concern. "Go mope in yer room or somethin', I wanna watch 'Barett-Jackson Auction' an' I can't with yer big shell hoggin' the couch."

While Donny does have an appreciation for beautifully restored American engineering, he's not impressed at the idea of yowling in pain whenever the image of a shiny convertible crosses the screen to send piercing flashes of light into his retinas. Even if it is in high definition. He raises his head to say so but just as he does a blinding white '57 Chevy up to its ears in chrome fills the monolithic collection of screens. He leans over the couch and immediately loses the rest of his sandwich.

"Uggg..." Raph exclaims, "Okay, I get it, between small TV. and yak – little TV. wins every time." Raph swiftly shuts off the TVs and light as the purple masked brother settles back again.

Even though the room is shadowed once more Don squeezes his eyelids together, trying to will away some of the pain.

"Mikey go dump the bucket." Raph's whisper breaks the silence all too soon.

"Me? Nu-uh! I cleared out Round 1, it's your turn!"

"I ain't touchin' no puke!"

"Can't take a little vomit Raph? What's wrong? Don't want to risk getting your elbow pads dirty? Never thought you were so girly bro."

"I'll show you girly!"

"SHUT UP! APRIL'S LESS OF A CHICKEN THEN BOTH OF YOU!" Don bellows, chucking the pillow at his bickering siblings. Dizziness slams into him, flattening the turtle back onto the couch and he instantly regrets the loss of his soft head rest. Curling in on himself slightly Don clutches at his head, whimpering despite his earlier stubbornness and a sob escapes before he can nail it down.

"Ah shell..." Raph mutters and silence prevails once more. The scrapping reappears at his side, which he now recognises as the bowl being moved about, and one of his brothers pad off while he feels the other crouch down beside him.

"Sorry bro." Mikey says quietly, gently lifting the genius turtle's head and placing the pillow underneath. "Don...why are you out here if you feel this bad?"

"'Cause his room's noisy, why else?" Raph's gruff whisper comes from over the sofa.

"Well...ya, but why not use Leo's room then?"

"He's got a point bro." Don just shakes his head in response, keeping his face scrunched.

"Don..." Mike doesn't get to finish. Bulky arms make their way under Donatello, lifting him up and making him yelp in surprise.

"Raph-...no!" Don tries to protest as he's carried off.

"You'll be better off in there an' ya know it Donny. I know ya don't like intrudin' on people or whatever but Leo wouldn' mind."

"But-"

"No buts." Don doesn't fight any more, he's too worn-out to argue properly and getting sleepy.

Moments later he's lowered onto the welcome softness of a proper bed and a blanket is draped over him. Something wet and cool is placed on his head, soothing his boiling brain. In spite of the incredibly sudden urge to sleep Donatello partially opens heavy eyelids to peer up at the two brothers before him.

"Sorry I yelled at you." He mumbles quietly. Mikey's trademark smile is plastered onto his face as he waves off the apology while a hushed rumble of a chuckle escapes Raphael as he smirks.

"Get some sleep bro." Raph mummers gruffly, closing the door after him. It doesn't take the tired turtle long to oblige.

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Why Barett-Jackson Auction you may be asking? Because while I was writing this my sister took refuge in my room to hide from my father who was watching said show (to which she is not partial). Plus, to me, it just seems like something Raph might watch.


End file.
